


thy comely grace

by wildcard_47



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Accidental Striptease, First Times, Francis Wants To Braid James's Hair, Francis's Love Language is Gift Giving, Frottage, M/M, Semi-Clothed Sex, Tender loving care, handjobs, is this a kissing fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21653512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: James remembers many things that happened after they got to Fort Resolution - but not all of them.One night, he and Francis reveal a few quiet truths to each other.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 15
Kudos: 154





	thy comely grace

The fire in the hearth had died down to embers, the candles illuminating the room had dimmed, and Francis was once again asleep in the armchair next to the window: all clear signs that meant it was time for bed.

Stretching luxuriously from his place on the worn chesterfield, James rose, mindful of his balance before crossing the room to shake Francis’s shoulder. 

“Come on, Francis. To bed.”

Francis stirred. The second his eyes fluttered open, they closed again. “Nnnh.”

“You’ll be more comfortable,” James brushed a stray piece of hair away from Francis’s ear. “And it’s going to turn cold in the morning.”

While their companionable rooming arrangement had now stretched across half a year, they had only begun sleeping in the same bed rather recently. Or at least had only discussed the recurring trend at that time. Whether by force of habit after so many blurred nights sleeping two to a sack, or a matter of convenience, or the pure instinctual comfort at having a companion at one’s back in the middle of the night, James knew for certain that he always slept better with Francis at his side. Clearly Francis felt the benefit as well, as he had not used his own bed in weeks.

“Make haste, Captain Crozier,” James said with a snort, his fingers now plucking at Francis’s shoulder. “You are required in the wardroom.”

Francis blew out an irritated sigh, but roused himself enough to scrub at his eyes and pull himself up from the armchair. James lingered behind only to extinguish the candles, and then he followed Francis back to the master bedroom.

When he arrived, Francis had already slung off the majority of his clothes; dressed only in his linens, he appeared to be searching for a clean nightshirt, and finding none.

“If you sent both of them out, then they’re still being laundered,” James told him, waving one hand at the bureau. “Wear one of mine.”

For a few minutes, he did not track Francis’s usual putterings, merely focused on changing out of his own clothes. He stripped to the waist save for his shirtsleeves and had begun working on his trousers when the crumble of old stitches at the side of one hip made him pause, and glance down, stunned. 

“Good Christ. Look at this!” Although it did not seem quite so long since he had gotten new linens back at Fort Resolution, apparently the clothes themselves felt differently. James yanked his trousers past his knees with haste and kicked them to one side, fully revealing the flapping edge of his linen waistband along with the loose, sagging stitches that held the garment together down his right thigh. “Don’t know why I’ve bothered wearing the damn things at all in this state.  _ Look.  _ How ridiculous!”

Sighing, he stomped over to Francis, gesturing at this now obvious defect. 

Clearly, Francis did not share such outrage. After a moment, mouth pursed, he reached out with one hand to touch James’s hem. His fingers had hardly brushed the threadbare fabric before James swept back to the bureau with an irritated noise. 

How had he not noticed this before? Why would Francis not inform him that he looked so shabby?

“Well, I shan’t bother with them for another minute.”

On a wild impulse, James shoved the offending garment down his hips the way another man might have flung back the bedclothes in preparation for sleep, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he wriggled out of the legs entirely. Although the bedroom was not overly warm, he could not help sighing in relief to feel the comfortable breeze dance all across his bare skin and between his legs.  _ Hm. _ Yes, he would stay like this for a few minutes.

Crossing to the dresser where the basin and pitcher waited, James sat down in front of the small mirror, expelling another breath before he began his usual nightly routine. Slowly, he scrubbed his face, splashed clean water on it, then used the pitcher to wet a flannel so he could wipe down his neck, hands, and torso. Once this was done, he brushed his teeth, rinsed the remnants of tooth powder from his mouth, and turned to the brush and comb that sat just beyond the pitcher.

These were his most prized possessions, silly as that may have seemed to an outsider. The brush, a silver-backed article with a spray of ivy and acanthus bracketing a large anchor, had a similarly-styled filigree handle and real boar bristles. It always scratched across James’s scalp and through his tangled hair in a way that made him shiver in satisfaction. He had found it buried in a trunk of old personals shortly after they returned home. 

The comb, however, was a recent gift from Francis for, quote,  _ allowing him to impose _ , given shortly after their shared sleeping arrangements had begun in earnest. Made of ornate Chinese enamel, as beautiful as anything he had seen in Chinkiang or Singapore, James was certain it had cost a small fortune. And yet Francis had handed the box over after breakfast as timidly as if handing over a dirty fork to be cleaned.  _ Here.  _

Hmph. James smiled to himself as he counted brushstrokes, now carding the firm bristles through the strands at the back of his neck. Francis was always so careful in that way. Afraid to make even the smallest social error, lest it turn back on him in some unforeseeable manner. Francis, who possessed the sort of intelligence that made both seasoned officers and ship’s boys sick with envy at his skill and knowledge. Francis, who was both the steadiest and bravest person James had ever known.

Lost in reveries, James glanced into his looking-glass only to see the man himself staring back at him from his place beside the bed. Still wearing only his linens, Francis was frozen with his hands outstretched, the proffered nightshirt in a heap on the floor in front of him. Like he had dropped it seconds earlier and had forgot to pick it up. Francis, who was staring at him as if he were watching the most arresting routine in the world. His cheeks were pink, his eyes were wide, and the fit of his linens was….

_ Oh, hell.  _ James stopped moving, both arms still poised above his head. He did not lower his brush, simply cleared his throat to speak. His mouth was dry. 

“Something you’re admiring?”

The Francis in the mirror turned a faint scarlet, but did not look away, just nodded  _ yes _ , wordless.

Slowly, James put down his horsehair brush. Then, as if he were simply preparing to finish his toilette, he reached both hands to his head, dragging his fingers through his hair from roots to ends and letting his fingertips linger on his neck, playing past his open shirt collar. Even this simple touch sent his prick hardening fully beneath his shirttails.

Behind him, Francis swallowed audibly. The click of his throat working as James’s hands toyed along bare chest told James precisely what he needed to know.

This prompted James to turn in his chair at last. Here, he could drink in the full glory of Francis’s half-naked form: view how ruddy his chest had already become as well as the pleasing roundness of his bare stomach. The poor man was visibly hard already; a thick jut rose up beneath his linens. He looked desperate and eager and afraid all at once, standing next to the bed as if he were paralyzed, and it was this swirl of want and inaction which nudged James to move. 

Slowly, he got up and closed the distance between them; as he got closer, Francis’s eyes grew wider, and his breath came faster. 

“Francis.” James flicked his gaze down to Francis’s linens, where his restrained cock gave a hopeful, visible jolt against thin fabric. “I hope you might allow me a few liberties before we retire to bed.”

Blushing redder, Francis opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. 

James stepped even closer, so that Francis had to sit down on the edge of the bed to keep from falling backwards. Carefully, James widened his stance so he stood astride Francis’s legs, getting a knee up next to Francis’s hip as he brought one hand to Francis’s shoulder, making his offer quite clear. If he lowered his rump by even a few inches, he would be sitting directly in Francis’s lap.

“Shall I go on?” he asked, low.

No sooner did James finish his sentence than Francis whispered, “Yes.”

Beaming, James guided them backwards so that Francis was lying prone on the coverlet. As he settled himself astride Francis’s stomach and then moved lower still, rolling his hips a few times for good measure, he placed both hands on Francis’s arms. His fingers traced light paths across Francis’s neck and jaw before brushing a lock of red hair behind one ear, just like before. Although Francis tracked every movement of James’s fingers with eager eyes, he stayed quiet. The sudden hitch in his breath and the dark desire in his eyes were the only clues as to what he wanted next.

“Hm. Perhaps I should kiss you here first,” James murmured, leaning forward to nibble at Francis’s earlobe. When James tugged at the lobe with his teeth, Francis made a soft sound in the back of his throat, and skated his palms up James’s bare sides, just under the shirt tails.

“Mmm.” James exhaled against Francis’s neck, felt the twitch of that thick cock against the juncture of his thighs as he pressed his lips to a fluttering pulse point. “And here, also.”

Francis thrust up, and his hands tightened on James’s hips.

James laughed, and turned his attention to the opposite side of Francis’s throat, where he planted a series of soft kisses down his First’s stubbled, oh-so-stubborn jawline. “And here? Tell me how you like it.”

“Yes, James,” Francis rumbled. He sounded as if he were answering a simple question, or could have, were it not for the tremor in his voice. Smirking, James opened his mouth and sucked at the hinge of Francis’s neck till Francis spoke again: louder, surprised. 

_ “Yes.  _ There. _ ” _

Encouraged by such boldness, James ground down against Francis’s cock, finding a slow, languid rhythm as he increased the frequency and the urgency of his northern ministrations. When he shifted his weight forward, canting his hips harder than he meant to as he bit softly at the line of Francis’s gleaming throat, Francis’s hand flew to his mouth, stifling a little cry.

Oh, he was perfect this way.

James kept licking and sucking and biting at every tiny freckle that dotted pale lovely skin, rocking his hips against Francis’s all the faster and toying at peaked nipples with agile fingers until Francis was thrusting up against him with abandon—until the man was insensible. 

Although Francis still had a palm pressed over his mouth, James heard every desperate plea as if it were hissed straight into his heated ears. 

“Yes, James, oh, yes,  _ fuck _ , yes, y—ah!” 

With a strangled cry, Francis went rigid, clutching at James’s sides, and spilled inside his linens; James hushed him through it with a cavalcade of kisses and caresses, not stopping his movements until Francis fell lax into the rucked blankets, boneless and sated.

“That,” huffed James, still able to grin in a rakish way as he brushed a hand across Francis’s heart, “was very encouraging, sir.”

Averting his eyes, Francis tapped the top of James’s thigh in silent rebuke, but this feigned severity was outshone by visible delight, and so James did not mind. He minded even less when Francis reached between them, wonder in his gaze, and pressed a heated palm to James’s bare belly. 

James’s hips jerked forward and a hiss of anticipation issued from his throat.

“Oh,” was all Francis mouthed, as if he had discovered magic.

And now it was James’s turn to be cherished; Francis’s hands mapped the planes of James’s chest and abdomen with surprising tenderness. When his hand closed over James’s bobbing cock, which was now dripping a sweet path between their bodies, James bit his lip to keep from keening aloud.

“Yes, James.” Francis quickened his strokes; caused James to shiver and writhe in his First’s careful grip. “So beautiful. Look at you. _Look_ at you.”

It took no time at all. His pleasure broke across the shoreline of Francis’s slick hands, fierce and unforgiving as the tide; James let the current carry him down, out, everywhere.

He came to shivering and gasping, moored against Francis’s chest amid a sea of soft pillows. Francis was humming a nameless tune and carding his clean hand through now very disheveled locks.

After a few minutes of companionable quiet, James lifted his head and caught Francis’s relaxed gaze, voicing a question that had suddenly pressed at his mind:

“You like my hair, don’t you?”

Two high spots of pink appeared in Francis’s cheeks, but he merely sighed, and tapped the small of James’s back with his other hand. “Think it suits you.”

“Well, I should hope so,” said James, and dropped a small kiss atop Francis’s head to show he had taken no offense at this answer. “But you needn’t fret. I was merely wondering about your recent choice of gift. What made you decide on a comb, rather than some other token.”

“Oh,” said Francis. Sighing again, he cast a shy smile toward the planes of James’s chest. James wanted to run his fingers across that little smile and the lines around Francis’s mouth till he had memorized every inch by touch. “Well. Perhaps you don’t recall. After we got to Fort Resolution, and you improved enough to walk, you finally emptied your pack, such as it was. Meant to neaten yourself up after so long spent abed.”

“I remember the shave. Real soap.”

“Yes. That was the first step. After you’d shaved, and washed your face, you brought out your pocket comb to fix the bird’s nest atop your head. Erm. Bridgens had tried to tend to your hair in Terror Camp—many times—but you’d refused to let him touch it. For weeks. Think you feared we might cut it all off as soon as look at you.”

James did not remember that, but held his tongue as Francis continued.

“Anyway, no sooner did you put the damned article to your head than it snapped clean in half. Not sure why. I’ve forgot how you carried it normally, if it was in a pocket or in your pack. But whatever the cause, you wept.” He tightened his grip on James’s shoulders. Water glimmered along his lashes. “You wept, James. With half a comb still stuck in your locks. And I, ah—I went to you.”

“You did?” James whispered.

He imagined the scene, although he could hardly picture their original lodgings. How bitterly he must have sobbed in order for Francis to step in. How piteous he must have looked.

“First time I’d held you since we’d come off the shale.” Francis’s eyes were distant, but his tone was warm. “Realized later I’d have felled a thousand men by supper if it meant I could see you with your hair curled again. See you as you looked here. Tonight.”

“Yet I returned to England with a plain pocket comb.” James’s voice cracked over the words. Several small tears streamed down one cheek. “And with my hair trimmed. Was this so insufficient in taming the mess atop my scalp?”

“No. You needed a finer one.” The voice was gruff, but the soft, searching look in Francis’s eyes as he raised his head and thumbed the tears from James’s cheek was lovely beyond words. “To match your brush.”

Taking Francis’s face between his hands, James leaned forward and kissed him, long and slow.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I pictured [the brush](https://www.etsy.com/listing/679845672/antiquevictorian-sterling-boar-bristle?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=antique+boar+brush&ref=sr_gallery-1-7) and [comb](https://www.etsy.com/listing/385388560/chinese-enamel-comb-antique-circa-1900?ref=search_recently_viewed_on_sale-2&pro=1&frs=1) looking like, btw.


End file.
